


The Seed of Change

by Exophile_3D (bearbane)



Series: WoW One-Shots [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: F/M, Furry, Hot Sex, Knotting, Large Cock, MONSTER FUCKER, Monster Boyfriend, Penis In Vagina Sex, Porn, Porn With Plot, Sex, Vaginal Sex, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Sex, Wolf Pack, Worgen, excessive cum, huge cock, werewolf boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:48:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25918330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearbane/pseuds/Exophile_3D
Summary: An upstart newcomer brings a much-needed change to a Worgen Pack.Male Worgen / female reader (Worgen in human form)Chapter 2 up 29/08/20.  Yes I know this was supposed to be a one-shot but I got inspired...
Relationships: Female Reader / Male Worgen
Series: WoW One-Shots [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859218
Comments: 14
Kudos: 148





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve no idea what’s up with my brain at the moment, but I suspect these things are just my antidote to writing soppy lovey-dovey fluff elsewhere. *blushes and scurries off*
> 
> Also, have used the convention ‘y/n’ for ‘your name’. Just in case anyone hasn’t come across that yet.

There is, you decide, but one thing you would change about being Worgen. When you were human, you had full control over when and with whom you rutted, but now, with so much in you that is _wolf_ , you must submit to the biological demands of your season.

It has come around fast this time, and already your potential mates are assembled, an odd assortment of humans and night elves, skin bared and ready for the Change in the cool evening air. You have few reservations about your current lifestyle, however, or your new companions. The Pack is strong and the Alpha disciplined and fair - if a little hidebound. Under his leadership the group has existed for decades, and new Worgen are only taken in if they can demonstrate their control, and abide by laws set out and observed through long centuries of tradition. The influx of new blood has become necessary to swell Pack numbers however, and the Run has become more important in recent months, with very few young being born from any of the recent pairings.

You know all those assembled by sight and scent, and while you are comfortable seeing their nudity - the prudish human aversion to nakedness is an alien concept here - there is a certain lewd tension to the air, and although there is still some friendly banter, all eyes are slowly but surely fixing on you with blatant hunger. Part of you does not mind: nothing from your former human life could have prepared you for the feeling of being in heat as a Worgen. Your only basis for comparison is taking the most extreme sexual need you ever experienced and extrapolating by a factor of ten; and it stays like that until you’re mated. You’re wired and excited, aching to run, ready to feel your muscles strain and stretch, to enjoy the tense thrill of male pursuit and the promise of fulfillment when the chase reaches its conclusion.

The males are jostling for position, pushing each other around, play-fighting and laughing, but their play takes on a serious note as the moon rises above the ancient pines. Some primal spark, born of earth and air, and embodied in the liquid flow of the nearby stream permeates the ready males, forging some ancient earth-blood connection that pounds in their veins and sets their eyes alight in the gloom. They are friends, Packmates, brethren. They stand shoulder to shoulder when called to fight, but tonight, they are rivals, and whoever proves fastest, strongest, most determined, most cunning will reap the coveted reward.

 _You_.

The moon’s lure pulses in your veins too. The irony of it is that while your blood is up in heat, Change - for you at least - is impossible. Your pursuers will be able to alternate between four legs and two while they hunt you through the night-dark forest, but you are constrained to human form. They will grant you quite a head-start, but you know their initial aim isn’t to catch you - that will happen eventually, regardless - it’s to eliminate all other males from the running, then consummate their victory. 

Jared, the pack Alpha nods to you. He has won the last three times you were in season, and although nothing has yet come of your mating, you secretly suspect he will find success again. While well into his third decade, there is a reason he presides over the group, and you admire the way the moon gleams on his lean, toned physique. Your eyes are drawn then to Seth, the newcomer as he sends one of his contemporaries sprawling with a mocking laugh and turns to lock eyes with you. His gaze is unsettling, not least because one of his eyes glows a bright blue in the firelight, while the other is milky white, the result no doubt of the wound that scars him from brow to cheek. His hair is long and shaggy, russet brown tinged with gold from long exposure to the sun, and you’ve never seen it tied back. Unlike the other Pack males who demonstrate their self-control and discipline in human form by maintaining a civilised appearance, this one seems to flaunt his wildness like a badge of honour and further evidence of his anarchistic tendencies. He is an upstart, a recent arrival and he has been vocal about his desire for change. He finds the laws and restrictions of Pack life among the Moorfang cloying, and while some have reacted by telling him to go find some other Pack, he is only voicing what you and other newer arrivals have been thinking. No-one has raised it with Jared however. He is no tyrant, but he does command respect. The sexually-charged look on Seth’s darkly handsome face tells you all you need to know. He has his eyes on the prize and may actually give Jared a run for his money tonight.

All becomes so much macho background noise then as your need to run reaches fever pitch, driven by the hollow ache in your belly, and your own innate physical reactions to the proximity of your potential mates. You throw off the cloak that has been covering you until now, startling everyone to silence. There is a new potency in the air, an electricity that flows up through the ground, through the soles of your feet and into your veins, rife with sexual energies and driving the need to rut. The moon peeks out from a passing cloud and the combined signals of lunar light and the stronger scent of a female in heat initiate the Change. You hunch over, hands on your thighs, that ache to transform a burning force in your blood, but you know it won’t be possible until the demands of this night are met. You give them a quick nod, which is both a salute to the competitors and a last-minute taunt, before tearing off into the forest, leaving the terrifying sounds of beasts in the throes of transmogrification behind you. 

As soon as you leave the clearing, you feel infinitely better. The presence of so much male blood, such overpowering male scent, and the knowledge of what tonight will bring was driving you insane. Here the air is cooler, fresher and it flows against your bare skin like a caress. There is such pleasure in stretching muscles long held under tension that you throw yourself to extremes of effort, leaping over low trunks and ducking waving branches. You forge a connection with the land through the pads of your feet on the soft carpet of pine needles and the cool burn of night air in your lungs. All too soon, the sense of freedom is curtailed. Rustlings begin around you in the black depths of the woods. A darting glance to your left shows three pursuers, loping along on all fours, slavering and growling, and occasionally snapping at each other as they run. You smile to yourself and abruptly change course, haring down the steep bank to your right and splashing through the stream at the bottom. Cool water connects with your heated skin, and for a moment you want to dive into the deeper waters behind you and salve your entire flaming being with its promised relief. 

Growls from above bring you back to your senses. You leap out of the stream on the other side and tear up the far bank, knowing they will quickly pick up the scent. Your legs pump, seemingly tireless and you throw your head back in the wild joy of it. While you are still bound to your human form, the she-wolf is alive in you tonight, lending you her energy, for she knows the reward it will bring. You head back to the path, feet thudding on the dried mud, reaching out your arms to brush against the soft firs, alive with nature’s energy. Then, disaster: an unseen root catches your toe and sends you sprawling. Three huge shaggy forms leap over you, changing course at last minute to avoid potentially harming you, and colliding with each other in a tussle that quickly descends into violence.

You rise cautiously, eyes ever on the snarling, snapping beasts. You should run while they’re distracted but something primal and wild inside you is drawn to watch the display, heat coiling in your belly as they fight over you. Corded muscle rolls beneath shaggy hides, and claws like daggers gleam in the moonlight. They are not used for the most part, and closed fists fly as they attempt to beat their daytime friends into submission. There is a crunch and a piteous whine and you snap your head in the direction of the sound. One of the males is out, a forelimb clutched to his chest as he rolls on the floor and howls. The victor that rises and watches you, crouched for the pounce has mottled black and gold fur and a scar over one milky eye. _Seth_. You shake your head in reproof. The laws set out by the Alpha dictate that the males try to keep the injuries to cuts and bruises only. He will heal fast, and sometimes when jostling for position, things get out of hand, but looking at Seth’s calculating, predatory glare, you suspect that is not the case here.

He advances, low to the ground, moving on all fours, head level, eyes locked on yours. There is something mesmeric in the way he is stalking you, and your flight instinct is snuffed by it. He closes the distance. _Six feet._ You can scent earth and sweat and something spicy in his musk, which is redolent with his own arousal. _Four feet_. Maybe Jared won’t claim you tonight after all. _Two feet._ His muzzle is level with your crotch and you suck in a breath that doesn’t seem to fill your lungs at all. His low growl turns to a surprised yelp as Jared’s black Worgen-form smashes into him from the side and the two go tumbling off into the bracken in a series of resounding, crackling crashes. An appraising glance at the clearing shows two downed Packmates now, the second unconscious but breathing regularly. You have no idea what happened to the rest, but by this time in proceedings, the field is usually down to a handful, so, your head clear again, you leave Seth and Jared to it and sprint off into the darkness.

Your path leads you to a clearing, drenched in moonlight, wherein stands a low dolmen, an ancient altar to forgotten gods. You stop and savour the aura of the place, quiet and serene; the long, flat stone looks inviting and your body yearns for rest and a sating of its needs. The victor will find you here, you are certain, and you clamber up onto the dolmen to wait. The earth energy is strong here, flowing through the stone, pulsing in time with the moon’s soft light and you feel connected in a way you never did before the Worgen curse took you three years ago. Soft breezes ripple the pines and a calm comes over you, an acceptance that the race has reached its end and soon the wildfire that sears you blood will be extinguished. The trees stir at the left of the clearing and the winner stalks into the open. You smile a welcome at Jared’s huge black lycanthropic form. The pack Alpha has proven his worth once again. As you watch, his body ripples and morphs, the muscles shrinking down, his fur and claws retracting, until nothing is left but this fine figure of a man who has seen to your needs several times before.

He climbs up onto the stone with you. He is perspiring, and breathing hard, evidence of his exertions to win you, and your body revels in anticipation of his broad human length filling you again. It has always been thus: the female leading the chase as a woman while the males race and tussle as full Worgen, but the act is always consummated in human form. A shameful desire flits through your mind, one that has haunted you as you lie alone at night, and invaded your dreams, leaving you to wake drenched and unsatisfied. You would never request it of Jared. He is a strong leader, but set in his ways. The laws bind him utterly, and your request would no doubt sound like deviancy or insurrection to his ears. But there is nonetheless a part of you that wonders what it would be like to feel warm fur instead of smooth skin, to be wrapped in powerful hairy arms, hostage to those dagger-sharp claws while the wolf mates you. You have also seen males in Worgen form fully aroused and the thought of it, even now, sends your head spinning and a flood of wet heat to your crotch.

Jared positions himself above you and buries his face at the junction of your neck and shoulder. “Your need is strong tonight, y/n.”

He is not wrong and you undulate beneath him, his own heat a ready pressure against your slick cleft. You meet his gaze and you see there the things that define him: a desire to keep the Pack strong, a need to protect and nurture all its members in whatever way is necessary, including at the moment, seeing to your needs. And there it is. There’s the problem. He’s doing this out of a sense of duty. You have no doubt he enjoys it, but there is no lust in the man and without the drives of the beast, and the bonds of duty, you doubt he would be anywhere near you tonight. Still, your needs are as real as ever and you push the thoughts away to concentrate on the pleasure you know from experience he will give you. Just as he is about to seal his victory, a growl sounds off to your left, rife with menace and warning. Perhaps Jared overlooked another of the early competitors. Your eyes are met not by the sight of any of the old Pack, but by the black and gold form of the scarred upstart. Jared slowly climbs off you and faces the Worgen. 

“I put you down, mutt. You should have stayed there.”

The only response is a snarl, and before Jared can think to transform, Seth is on him in a flurry of razor-sharp teeth and claws. You vault off the altar and throw yourself at them. While Jared is in human form he is in serious danger. Seth must know that, but your instincts tell you he has little regard for that right now. There are instances of Worgen with a lack of discipline or respect giving fully into their wolf nature and given what you know about this one, you are gravely concerned for your Alpha. You land on Seth’s back, knowing the ingrained Worgen instincts will prevent him from harming a female. This is buried so deep in their psyche that you know it with the same certainty you know the sun will rise. And indeed, he does nothing to deflect or dislodge you as you try to wrestle him away from Jared, only continues in his attack on the Pack leader. Three times the hammer blow from the upstart’s fist connects with your Alpha, and on the third, Jared stays down. You slip from Seth’s back and kneel beside your fallen leader, breathing a sigh of relief as you see he is alive and just starting to come round.

He gains his feet a little unsteadily and looks from you to the Worgen, who is breathing hard just behind you. With a deferential nod, he accepts his defeat and retreats from the clearing. Jared is nothing if not a traditionalist. He will not push the issue. As far as he is concerned, the demands of Pack Law have been met, and he will now let the fated actions unfold. It is a small comfort that he knows you are safe in the upstart’s company, and part of you feels rejected, and wishes he had fought harder for you. You cannot ignore Seth any longer however, so you turn, wondering if he has already resumed human form. He has not, and he stands, some eight feet tall hunched over, breathing hard but slow, limned by moonlight, waiting for you. He rounds on you as you turn, seizing your hips in clawed talons and walking you backward toward the dolmen. He lifts you up to sit on the edge and shuffles you backwards until your feet, knees bent, are on the edge of the capstone. You tilt your head at him. Your desires have not abated, but he doesn’t seem to be in a rush to resume human form.

“Change,” you command him. Here, you hold sway. What happens is on your say-so. It is written, and it is known. The only response is an amused growl. As you watch with a mix of horror, fascination and guilty desire, he grasps the back of your thighs in his wickedly sharp claws and lowers his muzzle towards your sex. For a moment, you are mesmerised by the sight of black claws against pale skin, then you flinch, not quite able to believe what is happening. This goes against every rule, every fragment of Pack history and lore that binds your society. 

“Change!” you insist, although this time your voice falters as you feel the wet heat of his breath against you, snorting, steaming in the night air. When it comes, it sends a shock through your core like the first plunge into a frigid pool on a hot day: relief, but at a cost. His tongue is long in this form, its dimensions inherited from the wolf side of the bloodline, and it takes him the space of several long, shudderingly-intense seconds to run its broad length against you from your cleft to your clit and your head falls back hard against the stone. Part of you hopes this is just a game, and that he will revert to human form now that he has committed one small act of anarchy; the rest of you is busy calculating how long you’re going to last if he does that again. He removes the need for calculation a spit second later as he repeats the action in reverse and laves his wide, hot, agile tongue the entire length of your womanhood, ending with the tip pressed against your entrance. Your body betrays you and favours you with a tiny, unexpected climax. Nothing to write home about perhaps, but to be fair, he’s done nothing more than lick you. Twice. 

You heave yourself up onto your elbows and glare at him, locking eyes with him where he is holding his position with his snout buried between your thighs, his tongue pressed against the source of the sudden flood in your nethers. “You know the law, Seth.”

He pushes his tongue against you in response, slipping past your inner folds and against the ring of muscle within. You grunt with the effort of concentrating while he teases you like this. “You need to change back. _Now_.”

His tongue presses harder, penetrating your defences and wriggling inside you. You gasp at the sudden flood of sensations. He shuffles forward so he can feed in a few more inches of mobile muscle and you feel him invade the slender passage, writhing and undulating incessantly. There is one major flaw in what he is doing, from your point of view. His tongue may be soft and wet, but it is housed in a maw of extremely sharp teeth. As a result, his upper and lower jaws are pressed to your mound and your buttocks, respectively, and you are feeling ever so slightly vulnerable. One spasm from those jaws and - you don’t even want to think about it. You just hold utterly still, prepared to let him do what he pleases until your womanhood is out of danger from those needle-sharp fangs. It turns out what he pleases is to evoke sensations you would have thought impossible moments before. His Worgen tongue is practically prehensile, and he rolls and flattens it inside you, causing a pulsing sensation both at your entrance and deep within. With the threat of sharp teeth against your butt and cleft, the sensations are both terrifying and arousing and as he moves, it dawns on you: he is licking you inside. Though you promised yourself you would not move, regardless of what happened, his tongue finds that little cluster of magic inside you and begins to lick it with abandon. The combination of such intense stimulation of your sweet spot and the fear of what might ensue should you move combine to send you over the edge. Your stomach clenches and you sit bolt upright as it hits you like a fist to the belly. You cry out, howling your pleasure to the moon as the odd, forbidden act sends potent pulses of pleasure shooting through your abdomen, and causes violent tremors in your limbs.

You fall back on the dolmen, twitching and breathless, and more than a little disturbed by what you have both just done. He withdraws his long tongue a little while later and sets to licking you clean with long wet strokes that are far too much for your over-sensitised nerves to handle. “ _No_ , Seth,” you admonish, pulling your knees to one side and moving your womanhood out of reach of his jaws. He raises his head, licking his chops and tilts his face to the side, looking for all the world like an inquisitive puppy just at that moment. It behooves you to explain yourself, and as you do, he huffs an acknowledgment and mounts the dolmen. 

He crawls over you, hands pressing the warm stone next to your waist, then your shoulders, and as he does, you glance down between you to see how bad it’s likely to be. You blanch, despite your raging heat. He must be twice your mass in this form, and his shaft is both longer and wider than that of any human male you’ve seen. It tapers out towards the base, where his knot hovers, pulsing and vein-riddled, and the cockhead is pointed, as though designed to pierce a womb. It is perhaps less rigid than a human cock would be at this point, but truth be told, given the alarming length of it where it lies hot and heavy against your thigh, you count that as a blessing. But this has gone far enough. It’s time for the games to end and observation of tradition to begin.

“That’s enough, Seth. Change form now!” you yell. His muzzle hovers over your midriff, scenting you, and loosing a couple of drops of steaming drool onto your skin. He moves higher, sniffing at your breasts then watching you over them. You’re torn between indignation and desperate need, and you lose your cool a second later as his tongue licks around your hardened nipple, a slow, hot, wet sensation that sets you shuddering with pleasure. He repeats the action, running the full length of it back and forth across the turgid flesh, and describing circles about it with the tip. He gives its companion similar treatment, and moves his hands up to either side of your head, where you can clearly hear the sharp claws scrape against the stone as he grips the edge. You feel his legs move, warm, hairy thighs on double jointed legs pressing against yours as he cages you with his limbs. His cock drags up your leg as he moves, leaving a cooling trail of precum against your thigh. It sticks to your overheated skin for a moment then judders forward and thuds against your wet cleft. It slides against you as he moves, pressing up against you until it slips out over the top, thrumming full-length against your clit and landing against your belly.

His knot pulses where it lies against your mound and his balls rest heavy on your thighs, cool and clammy compared to the rest of him. His muzzle raises from your breast then and pokes down next to your neck, taking a long, deep breath and growling out a low, long note of approval. You press your hands to his chest, marvelling at the feel of smooth hair overlaid on human skin, then you run your hands up to bury your fingers in the thicker ruff at his neck. He apparently likes that and responds with a huff and a tilt of his head to allow you deeper access. This is madness. If anyone from the Pack were to find out what you two have done, you’ll be ostracised - maybe even hunted - but even as the thought crystallises, he banishes it as he draws his dick back down over your belly and pushes it effortlessly against your entrance. Holding it there, he presses first one then the other hairy thigh between your legs and prises them apart until your ankles tumble out over the edge of the stone. Watching you with his blue eye and his milky eye, he feeds his length into you. The warm, sliding sensation is incredible, as is the sensation of being filled by something exponentially bigger with each passing second and each inch he squeezes into your womanhood. You writhe around beneath him, head back while he runs his extraordinarily talented tongue against the tendons in your neck, and abruptly, he bottoms out. You raise your head, overcome with shameful curiosity, and you see that he still has another inch or so of his meat outside you, along with the pulsating knot. 

He begins to move then, and your arms move to guide and encourage him, grasping the shaggy buttocks and tugging gently. He enters you with long, sure strokes, each one gliding like silk thanks to your level of arousal and the odd, slippery texture of his member. He picks up the pace quickly, testament to his clear enjoyment of what he is doing to you, and of how you feel to him while he is sunk deep inside you. When he begins to hammer you, it thrills you with a million tiny vibrations that set your womanhood tingling and cause a series of tiny eruptions in sequence, each one stronger than the last. It is about this point that you notice something wide and fleshy is pounding against your outer lips. It is a pleasant sensation, but you realise it means he managed to bury the remaining few inches in you and in a moment of utter absurdity, you wonder where they went. He is becoming increasingly vocal, releasing a series of animalistic growls and grunts that perversely just add to your excitement, and his hips are pushing harder and harder against you, grinding your buttocks against the smooth stone. You press your hands to his pelvis, trying to prevent him from going so deep, but he foils you. His hands grasp the dolmen at each edge and he uses the strength in his upper body and arms to bear down on you and keep you trapped in place between him and the unyielding stone. His rutting reaches a crescendo, and he thrusts forward, back arching as he forces the pulsing knot against your lips. You cry out in denial and push back against him, to absolutely no effect. His hips keep driving forward with crushing force, and with a fleshy ‘pop’, the entirety of his knot squeezes inside your tight slit.

Your womanhood instantly clenches around it, although you know instinctively this is not going to help matters, and your heels drum a frantic tattoo against the dolmen’s capstone, which remains cold and indifferent to your panic. You run through all the curse words in your arsenal, even inventing a couple of new ones in your overtaxed state. You try and fail to draw breath, seeing stars, astounded at the amount of pressure his knot has added - and worst of all, it’s _growing_. The stretch of your lips and the intense physical force increase until your head is thrashing back and forth, desperate for a release from strain his monster of a knotted cock is putting on your innards. You’re still confounded by where the rest of his length has gone, but presently, the sensations inside you indicate that it is in fact crammed and bent within, forced into a twisted position by the constraints of your womanhood and the plugging force of the knot. By and by, you realise he’s not going anywhere and your body becomes somewhat accustomed to the fucked—up sensation. He raises his head and stares at you down his long muzzle, then he begins to rut again. He cannot withdraw at this point, so instead he stirs, moving his hips in a slow circle, swirling the knot around inside you, and causing his crammed length to twist and jolt deep within you. His motions speed up and he releases the stone, bringing his body down hard on top of yours and sliding his forearms beneath you to grasp your shoulders in diamond-hard claws. He growls, drooling, rotating his hips faster and faster until he can hold back no longer. The enormous Worgen throws his head back to loose a sound that is somewhere between a howl and a roar, and he gouts within you, until your belly starts to swell with the ungodly amount of cum his cock releases. Your abdomen is riven with sparks of pleasure and you cry out as the weird, jolting, wriggling feeling causes a ecstatic burn-out that steals your senses for a moment, hurling you into pleasurable blackness.

The world swims back into focus, accompanied by the whispering sound of the night winds in the tree tops, the scent of sex and pine and recent rains, and the sensation of his wet muzzle against your neck. He moves as he sees you wake and laves his tongue across the slick, overheated skin of your chest. Flattened out, it is as wide as your hand, as long as your forearm and you get the idea this action is intended as a comfort, a balm, as indeed it is, your skin cooling in the night air after his tongue passes. Every so often, he shifts a little within you and - damnit - he knows exactly what he’s doing. Every additional ounce of pressure feels incredibly good, and every time he moves, it sends you quivering into the grip of another stomach-clenching orgasm. It turns into something of a game, and you watch him for a tell-tale sign - a twitch of his ear or nose, a tightening of his grip on the stone - and he soon starts to send false signals, surprising you with little climaxes when you least expect it. Your hands, initially pressed to his chest, ready to push him from you as soon as the knot subsides, now stroke across his furred muscles, and indulge themselves regularly in the soft, luxuriant ruff at his throat. It is all too much, but in the best possible way, and Pack Law be damned, you hope Seth manages to claim you again soon. 

But all good things must come to an end, and this one comes with little warning. One moment he is teasing you with his tongue and eliciting an endless series of mini-orgasms from your tightly-packed womanhood, and the next he is throwing back his head back and rolling his shoulders, giving voice to a growl that sounds like it’s tinged with regret. The Change is on him. The agonising internal pressure reduces exponentially with each passing second and soon, there is nothing but the press of warm skin against yours, and Seth's mismatched eyes, watching you. He leans down and kisses you, long and deep, sending his very human tongue questing inside your mouth and licking at your lips as though you’re covered with honey.

"Fucking beautiful." 

They are the first words he’s ever spoken to you directly and you wonder whether he's referring to the taste of your lips, or the experience you’ve just shared. He soon sets you straight, stroking a hand along your cheek and a thumb against your lips in honest appreciation of the sight of you. You feel a heat rise to your cheeks, despite the act of utter wanton heresy you’ve just committed with him. To your surprise, in human form, Seth is still hard, and you quickly come to understand that the needs of the man and those of the wolf are separate and distinct. He sheaths himself inside you again, but this time in the form of a slow, sensuous fuck that leaves you shaking and squealing in his arms, this latest wave of pleasure intense enough that you’re honestly not sure which experience you prefer. His withdrawal initiates a true flood, and his Worgen release, which had been starting to trickle over your buttocks during your most recent entanglement, spurts from you as he unplugs you at last. He raises himself with a grin, amused by your idiotically satisfied smile and your apparent reluctance - or inability - to move. He climbs off the dolmen and lifts you to a sitting position, swivelling your legs around so you're perched on the edge, then stands between them, arms either side of you, face close to yours. You're trying to reconcile what's happened with Pack Law and you're failing - but your belly is tingling, aglow with pleasure and promise and while you know it's impossible to tell, the she-wolf in you is smugly cognizant. She _knows_. 

You’re a little unsettled by his proximity and the intensity of his gaze, and you’re half expecting him to head off back home as most males do when their duty is complete. You find to your surprise that he wants to talk.   
  
“You’ve never done that before,” he observes. Well of course you haven’t. He knows as well as you do it’s against Pack Law. “But you've wanted to.”

You vent a terse breath and look away, finding some insignificant spot on the ground and focusing all your attention on it. It’s bad enough that you did it, without Seth knowing you _wanted_ it. He might tell others, or worse, use it as a point of leverage over you. You already know he’s an anarchist and power-hungry, but you didn’t know until now that he might stoop to blackmail to get his way.

“You ever thought there might be a reason for that?” It’s an odd question and it derails your slanderous train of thought. You’ve assumed it’s just some personal perversion, a shameful secret you would otherwise have taken to your grave.

“You think you’re the only woman ever wanted to rut with a Worgen in wolf form?” He shakes his head and laughs in disbelief at the shock on your face. “Out there in the real world, it’s pretty commonplace. This Pack has been isolated too long, stuck in old ways that stop it from growing.”

“But it’s Pack Law. It’s always been this way,” you protest. 

“That’s not a good reason to carry on. You can’t stop change, y/n. Jared can try, but sooner or later, with no new blood in this Pack, it’s going to die.”

“But the Run, it pairs a fertile female with a ready mate.” The phrase is quoted straight from Jared’s Pack tenets, word for word, and Seth looks at you, quite frankly, like you’ve gone mad. When you think back on what you’ve just said aloud, you start to wonder if he’s right, and what effect living in this isolated and hidebound community has done for your state of mind.

“Is that what you want, y/n? To get bred by whichever wolf can _run_ fastest on any given night? Or do you want a mate?” While you consider that, he adds, “I’ve been here three weeks and I’ve already seen folks desperate to leave, or desperate for change, but I think Jared would see them all in the ground before he’d go against his precious Pack Law.” He shakes his head then fixes you with that odd, vari-coloured gaze. “I’m going to challenge for Alpha.” 

You know then he will win. Your instincts - and those of the she-wolf that even now roils inside you - tell you so. Jared might be a match for him physically, but in a true duel, the current Alpha would stick rigidly to the rules, to the expected flow of combat. Seth would not.

He tells you then to Change, to hunt, to devour a fresh kill - it will make you strong for what is to come. It appears the wolf in him _knows_ too. 

“And when you’re done, I’ll be here,” he says, perching on the capstone with a smile that leaves you in no doubt as to his continued desire. “Waiting for you.” 

There is so much about him, even in his human form that reminds you of the wolf. He is powerfully muscled, but with no spare flesh, hirsute in just the right amount and in just the right places, and often wears that toothy grin that oozes raw sexuality. As you turn and pelt off into the shadowed woods, feeling the wondrous gift of the Change throbbing through the taut muscles in every inch of your being, you reflect on the evening’s events and look forward to the coming times with a sense of renewed hope. You are sure he will be there in the clearing, waiting for you on the altar of long-forgotten gods, and you fully intend to claim him again when you return, and show him just what tonight has meant to you.

That was three years ago, and Seth has been Alpha since the day after your initial mating. Since then the Pack has swelled with new members in the form of outside recruits, along with a good number of human and night elf children, who will have a free choice about their nature when they reach adulthood. You and Seth cleaved to one another after that first night, and you now keep the Pack in order at his side, with two little ankle-biters enriching your shared happiness. 

The youngsters still Run, those that want to, not because of tradition, but because it helps those without to find long-term mates, and - damn it - because it’s _fun_ , and it satisfies the needs of both the wolf and the human. Life for the Pack has been turned upside-down, but the society that has emerged is stronger and more resilient for it. It has come at the expense of old habits and traditions, but without it, the Pack would never thrive, never grow, and you for one relish the opportunities the future will bring with Seth, your wild Worgen lover, and agent of change at your side. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. I wrote more. 
> 
> I'm jumping between updates for 'Out of Mana' and 'The Dry Spell', and this one just decided to come out instead. *shrugs* I have no control over my smut-muse.

The sweet sounds of laughter and merrymaking filter through your cottage door as you throw a shawl around your shoulders. The nights are cooling, but still the Pack prefers to spend its evenings in the open air, a testament to the wildness that is in their blood. You open the door and you are instantly assailed by noise, warmth, light, and a sense of joy and community that had been markedly missing until four years ago. Your eyes automatically seek the tall figure that even now sets your skin a-tingle and your heart fluttering at a single glance. _Seth_. He stands, as always, where the carousing is at its most debauched, inciting ever bawdier songs, more ill-advised drinking challenges, and a more intense enjoyment of life. You search then for your adorable but irrepressible offspring, and find them with the rest of the youngsters, scrambling around on all fours and howling at the moon in their favourite game, a game that for many will become reality when they reach maturity.

The frolicking figures are lit by white light as the moon shows her face from between darting clouds, and you double over as an unexpected cramp causes a frisson in your lower abdomen. You suck in a steadying breath; you haven’t felt this in over two years, since the night you last fell pregnant with Seth’s seed. Tonight it is back with a vengeance, and is fills your belly with a white heat, sending a hollow ache through your innards, a yearning for which you know there is but one cure. You grip the doorframe with a white-knuckled hand, forcing a shuddering breath out as another spasm of need nearly sends you to your knees. Breathing hard, you look back towards the fire-pit, to where Seth is laughing and drinking, and he freezes and slowly turns his head towards you, a bottle half-way to his lips. His smile fades, and although you can’t make out his face in much detail, you suspect he has caught your scent. In that instant, you lock eyes, his one blue eye glowing in the moonlight. _Contact_. The Pack are forgotten, the carousing is forgotten, and he strides through the crowd towards you with unshakeable, single-minded purpose, smashing the bottle on the ground as he comes. 

As he approaches, his scent reaches you, and the need is amplified tenfold. You groan aloud, giving voice to a soft mantra of sensuality and desire, your nails digging into the soft wood of the doorframe. You can tell from yards away that he’s a little drunk, and you steel yourself excitedly for a rough ride. What few inhibitions he has when sober are markedly absent after a few drinks, but you find yourself unable to care. You’re subjugated by the heat in your belly, the gnawing imperative to rut, and the desperation you know will consume you if you can’t have him right here right now. You’ll take him however he comes to you and in whatever form, and you will devour whatever he has to give; you know full well it will be a lot. Lightning arcs through you from your toes to your scalp as he closes the distance between you, hauls you to his waist - where you instantly seize him in a leg lock - and storms into the house, slamming the door behind you.

His aim is a little poor as he attempts to kiss you, lower you to the ground in front of the fire and tear off your clothes at the same time, and you laugh as his lips slide against your chin. You break off and gasp as he sinks his teeth in, then smile as he bites his way back up to secure a better-aimed attempt at your lips. He tastes of the sweet mead he has been drinking and you busy yourself with your tongue, stealing a little of his sweetness as his hands pull roughly at the cloth that separates his skin from yours. It is causing some annoyance, apparently, and, with a sharp tearing sound, you resign yourself to the fact that your shirt will join the growing pile of dust-cloths that similar tussles with your uninhibited lover have created. He is as hungry as you for this, it seems, and he cannot shed his clothing fast enough, shortly pulling away from you and hurling it from him while fixing you with a sex-crazed glare that leaves you in no doubt as to his desire.

He is back on top of you in short order, warming every inch of you with every inch of him, his hands stroking, squeezing and rolling your most sensitive flesh while his lips hold yours prisoner. You feel as though you are floating on a sea of pleasure and promise, and you open your eyes to take in what little you can with him so close to you. With a start, you note that his blue eye is aglow. You hadn’t taken much note of the phase of the moon, but you recall now that it’s full, and you stiffen beneath him, hands pushing at his chest to request a chance to speak. Seth has little resistance to - or perhaps little desire to resist - the moon’s influence, and unlike other Worgen, rarely attempts to overcome its pull, preferring instead to let nature take its course. You should have realised that when you fell into heat tonight.

“Seth.” The word comes out muffled against his lips and he ignores you. He has spread your legs now and the primitive part of your brain is telling you to shut the fuck up and let him please you. 

“ _Seth_.” A low growl starts in his throat, reverberating against your lips. His fingers clench beneath your shoulder where you lie on his arm and his mouth suddenly feels full of teeth. You know what’s happening. The moonlight is filtering through the front window, lighting one side of his face in pure white while the other glows red from the flames. In seconds, the Change will be on him. You no longer fear his Worgen form - he has mated with you in that shape as often as he has bedded you as a human - but he is about to undergo a violent physical process, and you’d rather not be stuck underneath him as the wolf within forces its way out. You lose your train of thought - and your reservations - momentarily as he pushes against your ready flesh and fills you with his solid heat. His tongue slips behind your teeth, then keeps going, causing you to buck as it inexplicably reaches the back of your throat. Nails erupt from his warm hand where it cups your shoulder and they bite into your skin. Your eyes bulge. _It has begun_.

Unable to form words with his tongue in your throat and his maw pressed against your lips, you give voice to an alarmed groan, the best you can do in the circumstances, and push hard against his chest. You love Seth dearly, and you know he would move mountains for you and your children, but the man within is lost to the whims of the wolf and the power of the moon, and you know you have little chance of reasoning with him. You are also aware that you summoned him here, now, tonight. He was responding to the call of your sex and is doing no more than what his dual natures demand of him. He is, on both his Worgen and Human sides, an untamed being, a creature of impulse who is subject to the lunar cycle, just as you are. In that knowledge, you feel you can deny him nothing, no matter what madness ensues. 

There is a hideous cracking sound and for a moment, you assume it is one of the logs on the fire splitting, but it is quickly followed by another, and another, and Seth raises his head from your lips to grimace in pain as the Change shoots through his limbs. The process of transmogrification is not a pleasant one, and both flesh and bone must needs be reformed to give rise to the Worgen entity that dwells in each Pack member. Above you, as you lie pinned beneath Seth’s transmuting body, bones reform and elongate, splitting in two to form new joints along the legs; muscles swell and blood pumps fast and hot, causing a burning sensation in the veins. While you have both seen and endured this before, you have never been so close to another while they Change, and you know that his mind will be empty of all but the pain of rebirth and the wolf’s insatiable desire for freedom. You try not to draw attention to yourself at this critical moment, but it’s hard; he is still buried in you to the hilt and your need to rut has not diminished one iota.

He appears to recall you then and lowers his head to regard you, eyes wild with pain and lust. His face is no longer Seth, yet not quite wolf either: it is somewhere in between. He slams his free hand against the floor, the black blades that tip his fingers drawing runnels in the flagstones and tearing the rug. He is trying to release some of the tension this way, you understand, but there are better methods. You move your hands from his chest, sliding one over his shoulder and over the back of his neck, and the other down to grasp his buttock. It is then you realise that his skin is changing. Beneath your mobile fingers, hair is erupting like meat through a grinder, forcing its way through the pores in clumps and racing across his chest like the shadow of an eclipse across the sun. You marvel at the process of transformation, seen from this intimate distance, but there is something more urgent to assuage than your curiosity. You pull insistently at his buttock, knowing that the release will help you both, and he complies, shuddering forward as though remembering what to do. 

Once reminded, he needs no further encouragement and is quickly sheathing himself in you with gusto, but the rutting only seems to speed the process of Change and you lie helpless beneath the beast as it slowly but surely reveals itself. Shuddering from the repeated impacts of his hairy hips against yours, you can but watch as the Seth-Worgen hybrid form bulges with muscle, increases in mass, and exudes heat like a furnace of flesh in which you are more than willing to burn. Above you, his jaw and nose elongate into a muzzle, the snout wrinkled in a permanent snarl as the pain causes muscle and bone to snap into their new, more powerful shapes. You know from personal experience how painful this is, and your hands soothe and encourage while your body helps him weather the Change.

You jolt as his long tongue slides up your cheek. A thank you, perhaps, or a simple desire to taste you. Since he cannot speak in this form, you can but wonder. He holds your gaze for a moment with a blue eye and a milky one, the scar on his right temple and cheek just as vivid in his Worgen form, and you wonder what he’s trying to tell you. Seconds later, it becomes clear. He slams his hips against yours with an air of finality and your puzzled frown turns to alarm. Apparently, his cock is the last thing to Change. You’ve taken his Worgen length more times than you care to remember, but always with foreplay, always with a gentle easing and time to acclimate. You grab onto him in distress as he begins to elongate and widen within you, one particular section of his turgid length swelling out of proportion with the rest. You can’t hold back the cry of mixed pleasure and pain as it stretches your lips and the first few inches of your passage and your entire body goes rigid, fingers digging into the solid hairy muscle of Seth’s arms. Your mouth falls open, but you’re unable to take a single breath to fill your lungs. He does at least have the consideration to stay still while he expands inside you and he hovers over your face, dropping hot splatters of drool on your cheek and neck and growling his approval.

When your breathing begins to return to normal, he pulls his hips from yours, tugging your lower body, still sealed around his knot, along with him. You grunt and grab his waist to prevent his attempted withdrawal. He places one huge hand, the size of a dinner-plate against the sensitive spot between your hip and your groin for leverage, and pulls back again.

“Seth!” you admonish. Trying to remove the knot before it has subsided is just asking for trouble. It is designed this way for a purpose, and fits with a biological plan. But Seth never has been one to observe rules or stick to plans, and it looks for all the world like his wolf-face is grinning as he presses harder against your hip and yanks his knot free. White spots speckle your vision, and you scowl at him, but at least the pressure has been reduced, and now there is just the tingling, satisfying feeling of his slippery length filling your womanhood. Your relief is short-lived. Licking his chops and giving voice to a sneaky growl, Seth tightens his grip on your hip and drives his knot against your sodden cleft. You swear at him and thump his chest, but you know that once he has set his mind to something, he does not stop until he has made it a reality. He told you as much the night he decided - and succeeded - in claiming you.

You’re already stuffed full of many, many inches of Worgen meat, and the bulbous ball of flesh that is forcing its way between your lips is causing the blood to pound in your head. It’s also causing a flood of edgy pleasure where it rubs against your clit and slides against your outer folds, and as it pops back inside, cramming you full of knotted wolf-dick, you start to hope he’s going to do it again. As ever, Seth does not disappoint, and begins to work up a rhythm that is made easier by the flood of nectar from your loins. Before long, he is able to slide the knot in and out with ease, but you’re almost unaware of it as the incredible slippery friction and overfilled sensation long ago sent you into a mind-melting orgasm that just keeps building. You’re convulsing on the floor with your eyes rolled back in your head while the wolf pistons his knot in and out of you, crashing home with his pointed cockhead ramming against something deep inside you with every wild thrust. 

He lowers his black muzzle and runs his hot, wet tongue against your lips, bringing with it the taste of sweet mead, and he presses his chest to yours, abrading your hard nipples with coarse, black hair. Your head thrashes on the rug, the unrelenting pleasure Seth is giving you in this form is just not diminishing and it sends your brain into a spiral of utter depravity. You’ve been swearing at him non-stop for a while now. Although you are normally quite reserved and polite, even when you’re alone with him, you cry out in the language of lust as you encourage him to fuck you, fill you, breed you, knot you, and empty his balls into you as hard as he fucking likes and fill you to bursting as only he can. 

And he does.

He is jacking in and out of you so fast now that you hardly register the knot, and with your last verbal demand sending him crashing into his own climax, he slams home one final time and roars aloud as he shoots his load within you, pumping you full of his Worgen cum. As he strains through his release, his teeth clamp down on your shoulder and you cry out in pain. He has never bitten you in his wolf form before and you guess he must be very drunk, or that perhaps it’s a result of the litany of libidinous demands you’ve just made of him. Blood trickles from the wound, cooling your overheated skin and the fangs rest in your flesh like a set of needles. He is out of control, but again, you cannot bring yourself to care. You’re still bucking wildly in ecstasy beneath him as his seed fills you, and you have a feeling there’ll be a new sibling for your pair of little terrors before long. You will take the mark of his claim, and wear it proudly as his mate for the next few days, until your Worgen physiology makes short work of it. 

At length, he finally calms. He is still embedded in you, but he is looking at you with an expression you can read even on his lupine features. He is exuding love, pleasure, gratitude, and a rather smutty enjoyment of the new and exciting sex game you’ve just discovered. You suspect there’ll be more of this to come, and as ever, you look forward to it. The light of the fire sets the gold in his fur alight, and you bury your fingers in it, thinking how handsome he is in whichever form he takes. His cock pulses inside you, the knot subsiding, and you know from experience that means he will be ready to rut again imminently. All it will take is a single slice of incentive. You give him a wicked smile and speak the one word you know will drive this savage creature wild.

“ _Again_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This Worgen thing was only supposed to be a one-shot, but there’s a meme that’s been doing the rounds on Tumblr along the lines of ‘if you wouldn’t let your werewolf boyfriend change when he’s balls-deep in you, are you even horny?’ It’s been rolling around in my brain for a couple of weeks and just needed to come out. Since I already had a ready-made place for it, it made sense to me to explore it here.
> 
> Also, the physical inspiration for Seth is none other than the marvellous Mr Momoa. <3 https://i.pinimg.com/originals/d2/fa/c8/d2fac886e0e36d4fd41c2ca802223a6e.jpg
> 
> And that bit where he’s smashing the bottle: https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fgfycat.com%2Flawfulpowerfulchick-jason-momoa-aquaman-whiskey&psig=AOvVaw0OJFQmM_cOOnpDGgBG2fie&ust=1598794811719000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CAIQjRxqFwoTCJC8mfnEwOsCFQAAAAAdAAAAABAI

**Author's Note:**

> Well this turned out rather longer than intended! I just wanted to explore the concept of knotting, but as usual my brain couldn’t just do that and ended up putting it in bloody context. I also ended up down an internet rabbit-hole the other night reading about the rise of its popularity in fanfic, and then found all the Supernatural A / B / O stuff which was all a bit weird. 
> 
> I was also going to start on the Tauren one-shot I’ve been wanting to do for a while, but chickened out when I started researching and read about how long a bull’s winkle is. 0.0 Incidentally, I don’t recommend researching images of bull winkles on the internet. You have no idea what people do with them (and not in a pervy way - just … ugh!)


End file.
